


the royal fireworks

by edgeofthewall



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3423518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofthewall/pseuds/edgeofthewall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin is the heir to the throne, destined to rule her country of Arkadia. Bellamy Blake is a nobody, outcast due to his mother's secret and his sister's very existence. One night, he catches the princess in disguise in his barn, and finds an opportunity to save his family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bellamy knew the apple was bad before he even bit into it, but he did it anyway, fighting back the grimace that wanted to break across his face as the borderline rotten juice dripped slowly down his chin. Instead he smiled, rewarded instantly by a giggle from his sister as his bared teeth showed bits of apple skin stuck in them.

His sister, his responsibility.

37 days and counting since Aurora Blake had died, and as time continued to pass and money continued to dwindle, so did Bellamy’s hope that he would actually be able to live up to the expectations his mother’s dying words had contained in regards to Octavia.

At least today she had the fresher of the two pieces of fruit he’d managed to afford for their breakfast, though he could see that hers was still bitter. Just like her brother, Octavia kept her face blank despite the bad taste of the apple. It was hard to watch, so he broke the silence, pushing his own water toward her when she finished her own.

“What are your plans for today, Octavia?” Bellamy himself was going into town to look for work, though the scandal shortly before his mother’s death was making it incredibly difficult to find anyone willing to hire him.

Nobody wanted to give an apprenticeship, or a job, to the son of the woman with a secret.

“’aven’t thought abou’ it,” Octavia answered him around a mouthful of apple, tiny pieces of skin flying from her mouth and landing neatly on the wooden table. His sister, the charmer.

“Do you want to try that again? This time after your mouth isn’t full?” Bellamy’s words were stern but his tone wasn’t, his eyes shining with obvious fondness.

Octavia shrugged, not even remotely bothered as she finished chewing, repeating herself. “I haven’t thought about it. It’s not like I have any friends to go be social with, or any male suitors.” She said the last two words with a decided amount of venom, and this time Bellamy frowned. Hearing his mother’s words repeated with such anger only served to confuse him more. He was angry, but she was still his mother.

His heart ached for Octavia, however, knowing that nobody in the town cared to associate with the Blakes anymore. An illegitimate child, a former promising carpenter’s apprentice, and the memory of a dead criminal, all accounted for; home sweet home.

“What happened to that big long speech you gave me about being self-sufficient and able to entertain yourself and all that?” Bellamy stood to clear the table, though there wasn’t much to clear away after a breakfast of water and apples.

“It was a lie so you’d leave, of course,” Octavia stated in a matter-of-fact sort of tone, standing to look in the mirror on the far wall, frowning at a particularly stubborn lock of hair that refused to stay put underneath her fading hair ribbon. Bellamy made a mental note to buy her a new one as soon as they had more money.

He let out an overdramatic sort of sigh, pulling his attention away from Octavia to instead stare out the window at their pathetic excuse for property. Nothing had grown in quite some time, the outside of the house and the barn across the field were falling apart, and he couldn’t remember the last time the barn had contained any livestock. Now it was just a tomb for his destroyed hopes of becoming a carpenter, and his mother’s secret that had gotten them into this mess.

Octavia never looked at the barn, though whether or not it was intentional he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t blame her either way.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Octavia. I know things are hard, and things are feeling a little desperate right now, but I promise you,” Bellamy said, turning to face her now, “nothing is going to happen to you. Or us. We’re going to be fine.”

It was obvious that Octavia didn’t believe him but she crossed the tiny kitchen to smooth his shirt. It was his nicest one, and it was starting to become worn. She made a mental note to fix the worst of the holes when he returned that evening. It would at least give her something to do, and put the abandoned supplies to good use. Her mother may have given up on her seamstress ways but at least she could give it a try.

“I know, Bellamy. Now go. Off to dazzle the town with your wit and skills.”

Bellamy scoffed at her sarcasm but leaned to press a kiss to her cheek gently, before dashing out the door with promises to not come home until he’d found a job.

* * *

 

“Work for the princess, they said. She needs a bodyguard and you’re the best woman for the job, they said. It’ll be easy, they-“

“Are you quite finished?” Clarke’s voice was sharp, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. Raven Reyes certainly had been the best woman to protect the princess, her no-nonsense attitude paired with the way she wasn’t afraid to call Clarke out when she was being ridiculous all wrapped up neatly with her combat skills made her the perfect bodyguard for the heiress to the throne.

That and Raven owed Clarke her life, but as far as the two were concerned, that debt had been settled after a messy incident involving Sir Finn from two kingdoms over, the debacle only proving to strengthen their friendship..

“No, I’m not finished. As much as I enjoy spending time beneath the petticoats of beautiful ladies, I don’t think these particular ones are going to be fitting through this tunnel of yours any time soon, Clarke.” Raven wiped sweat from her brow to emphasize her point. There was no way Clarke’s beautiful royal clothes were going to fit through the tunnel Raven had expertly dug and hidden from prying eyes. “You need a disguise.”

Embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of such a thing in the first place, Clarke nodded in agreement. Sneaking out wasn’t something they’d ever had to do before, but since the incident with Aurora Blake, it had gotten harder to stay away from prying eyes in the castle. But out there in the distant parts of Arkadia, the parts of her kingdom that couldn’t even dream of how much money her family possessed, was what Aurora Blake had left behind, and Clarke was very much interested.

“Do your best, Miss Reyes.”

Three quarters of an hour later, Clarke was almost unrecognizable in a torn peasant’s gown, a remainder of Raven’s former life, dirt strategically smudged across her face, and her golden blonde hair tucked underneath a worn old bonnet. It was almost crazy enough to work.

“I’ll ensure everyone thinks you have retired for the night early due to a headache, Princess. Monty and Jasper will be waiting at the edge of the forest to take you to the Blake property.” Clarke nodded at Raven’s instructions as she prepared to squeeze through the tunnel, even if she’d already heard them dozens of times. It was the first time Raven was allowing her out of her sight in months, and she felt the anxiety pulsing off the woman in front of her.

“See you at breakfast,” Clarke said with a wink before pushing herself into the ground, wondering why they’d bothered with rubbing dirt on her, covered in it by the time she reached the other side of the palace wall. At least it would keep her disguised better, though Raven’s strategic digging of the tunnel deposited her close to the edge of the forest, as opposed to forcing her to walk through town.

She found Monty and Jasper not long after, glad to see them in a setting that wasn’t a stuffy ball, or dinner, or any of the other countless occasions at the palace that felt more like prison sentences than parties.

“Baths no longer required for the royal family?” Monty asked teasingly, though he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s cheek in greeting, coming away with a streak of dirt on his upper lip. Jasper immediately leaned in and wiped it away for him.

“Not today. I hope you both know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for me today.”

Jasper waved away her gratitude as he took her hand to help her up into back of the carriage. “Think nothing of it, Clarke.” He winked at her, or at least tried to. She’d always told him he was terrible at winking, and she laughed every time no matter how often she’d seen him attempt. “You know we always look for an opportunity to break a few laws.” With that, he shut the carriage door and hopped up next to Monty in the driver’s seat.

The kingdom of Arkadia passed by through the small windows, and Clarke couldn’t look away. The quality of living visibly declined the further they went, and it made guilt she often tried to suppress at her mother’s urging that “such thoughts of feeling sorry for peasants do not suit a princess” churn in the pit of her stomach. She’d never been very good at suppressing her emotions, after all.

The carriage began to slow at the very edge of the poorest part of the entire kingdom before finally coming to a halt. Clarke heard shuffling as the carriage rocked, and moments later Monty was wrenching open the door.

“You’ll have to walk from here, Princess. I think pulling up directly to the front door will be a bit conspicuous.”

Nodding, Clarke adjusted the bonnet on her head to ensure her hair wouldn’t fall from it, kissed the cheeks of both the men who had helped her, and started toward the edge of the Blake property, ignoring the little rundown home in favor of the barn, her fingers already itching for what she knew would be inside.

* * *

 

It was another unsuccessful day, and Bellamy started to feel real panic as he walked home from town. He hadn’t told Octavia, but at this point, he was simply asking the same people to give him a chance every day, because he was completely out of options. He’d have to tell her soon, but right now, he wanted to enjoy the delusion that maybe he hadn’t failed his little sister yet.

The house was dark, no candles lit anywhere, and he knew she’d probably gone to sleep hours ago.

What stopped him in his tracks, however, was the noise gently coming from the barn.

For a second he thought he was hallucinating. No sound like that had come from the barn since the last day Aurora Blake had been alive, and he wasn’t one to believe in ghosts.

An ax was propped against the side of the house, and Bellamy grabbed it as he quickly but quietly moved to the barn. The door was propped open, just enough for him to slide in without having to open the door any further, giving him time to see his intruder.

The girl’s back was to him, and a bonnet sat on top of the piano she was currently playing, revealing her wavy, golden hair.

The princess of Arkadia was in his barn, playing the piano that had been the very reason her family had decided to have his mother sentenced to death.

His grip on the ax loosened as he listened. He tended to avoid music, but the tune she was playing was beautiful, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. She seemed to play with her whole body, the music ebbing and flowing from her very core to her fingertips and out onto the keys, a haunting melody that made him sad for reasons he couldn’t even begin to explain.

But regardless of her talent, she was still intruding, and his mother was still dead.

“Can I help you, Princess?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! so i hope you liked the first chapter! i'm aiming for about ten or eleven chapters of this but that could change as time goes on. i'm very excited about this idea, and i'm looking forward to writing it. i've left the actual era a bit ambiguous to allow myself more freedom, but please excuse any glaring errors on my part. if you have any questions, you can find me on tumblr at [octaviabae](http://octaviabae.tumblr.com)! also this chapter has not been proofread by my beta because of my excitement to post it, but all chapters following this one will be checked over! thank you! also rated teen for now, but this may change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding Clarke in his barn, Bellamy demands some answers to his questions, and as a result, an idea that puts them both at risk is born, creating an unlikely alliance.

The piano hadn’t been touched in forty seven days, ten days before his mother was executed. He told himself that was why he felt himself mourn the loss of the notes the moment the princess froze, the notes she played lingering softly in the barn for just a second.

He missed the music.

Slowly, the girl turned on the piano bench to face him, and Bellamy spent a long minute simply trying to process the sight. She was well known for her hair, a stark contrast to the more sophisticated style of her mother, and her deceased father. It seemed the waves were impossible to tame, and they’d long since stopped trying. The paintings of her that decorated every public institution in Arkadia, however, didn’t do her eyes justice. The color was spot on, but paintings didn’t capture how expressive they were. He could see immediately how bashful she was at having been caught.

“I’m very sorry.” Her tone was soft, embarrassed, but with a marked sort of professionalism. The tone of a princess. “The house was dark, so I assumed everyone was asleep and I- I’ll just be going now. I apologize for barging in on your property.”

The princess stood, grabbing her bonnet hastily and beginning to shove her hair up into it once more. She moved with the frenzy of someone who’d lost track of time, but he felt no sympathy.

“Wait a minute, princess, you can’t-“

“Clarke.”

Bellamy blinked, words failing him for a moment. He’d often imagined meeting the royal family, to give them a piece of his mind and perhaps find a way to get to the bottom of the sudden call for his mother’s death, be it with violence or words, but he’d never imagined the princess would be demanding he use her real name in his barn in the middle of the night.

“Clarke then. You can’t just trespass on my property, make some sort of apology that makes not a bit of sense, and then dash off, expecting me to find everything about it perfectly normal and sleep tonight as if I didn’t find the princess in my barn.”

The princess—no, Clarke, scoffed at that, the sound surprising from someone who was supposed to be royal. Were all princesses this…. weird? “I’m almost certain that it’s completely acceptable for me to go anywhere and use anything in the kingdom that I want, sir. You should remember that.”

The words were all there, but Bellamy wasn’t convinced. Her eyes betrayed her, the lack of conviction behind them telling him that she didn’t for a second think she had the right to come barging into his barn to play a piano, but she’d done it anyway. It was like when he used to catch Octavia moving all the hay in the barn to form a cushion so she could jump from the loft that had served as her bedroom for sixteen years.

“I have to disagree with you there, _Clarke_.” His use of her real name was full of distaste, and he gained a strange sort of satisfaction at seeing her recoil mentally, though she stayed planted firmly where she was. “That piano used to be played for hours by my mother, and just because you went and had her killed for that, well, that doesn’t give you the right to come here and play it yourself.”

An emotion that Bellamy couldn’t quite pinpoint flashed across Clarke’s face, but it was gone before he could even begin to decipher what was going through the girl’s head in that moment.

“You are foolish to assume a seventeen year old girl has any weight in the decisions of her family, no matter how much she wishes she did.”

Clarke returned to the task of tying her shawl around her shoulders, missing a stray lock of hair unknowingly as she shifted to move past him. “I’m sorry once again to intrude on your property, Mister Blake, and I can assure you it will not be happening again.”

Still stunned by the way she’d chastised him, though admittedly she had a point, she almost managed to push completely past him before he reached out and caught her arm. “Wait! Hell, Princess, you can’t just go…. what, walking all the way back to your palace? Just give me a moment.”

He was off in an instant, running across the short expanse of his own land and crossing onto the land of his neighbor and childhood best friend, Nathan Miller. He knew his friend would be long asleep, but he also knew he wouldn’t mind if he borrowed his horse and buggy, especially not after he’d personally fixed up the rickety old cart into something much more recognizable as an actual carriage.

Bellamy returned to the barn a few minutes later, pulling on the reins in front of the barn, and looking expectantly at the hesitating princess. He leaned down to offer a hand.

“I know it’s below your standards, Princess, but-“

He didn’t even get a chance to finish his statement before she was setting her face in steely determination, taking his hand, and tugging herself up onto the seat beside him, waiting wordlessly for him to start for the castle.

* * *

 

Clarke allowed the minutes to pass by in silence for as long as she could bear, before the urge to speak overtook her. The silence itself wasn’t uncomfortable, but she felt the tension easing off the person beside her, as if his white knuckled grip on the reins hadn’t been enough of an indication.

“You returned home very late.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. She’d assumed that both Blake siblings had already been home by the time she reached their property and she would have most of the night to play, to write, before Monty and Jasper returned to take her home before morning light.

Bellamy only grunted in response, and Clarke had to bite back a retort about how he was acting like a barbarian. He was clearly agitated, and as much as she almost would’ve preferred to walk back to avoid this awkward situation, she still wanted to know a bit more about him outside of what was whispered on the royal grounds.

“Is there a reason for that?”

“Why, am I under arrest, Princess?”

She stiffened, moving further away from him on the bench without even realizing she’d done it. “I told you my name is Clarke. Are you going to introduce yourself in return, or will I just have to refer to you as words not fit for a lady in my head for the next hour?”

The oldest Blake shot her a look that was hard to decipher, though she expected part of it came from the fact that she would obviously know his name. The entire kingdom knew the Blake family now. But he, at the very least, seemed to appreciate the opportunity to tell her himself. “Bellamy. Bellamy Blake. It’s a bit strange being asked to call the princess by her first name.”

Clarke glanced away. “And it’s a bit strange having people forget that you actually do have a name, and that it is not Princess.”

Bellamy didn’t look at her this time, but she could see his smirk in the dark, a far cry from the obvious hostility coming from him back in the barn. “Fair enough. While we’re on the topic of things that are strange, are you going to tell me what you were doing in my barn playing my mother’s piano?”

Clarke remained silent for a long moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on for hours. It wasn’t like her to tell things to a complete stranger, though she supposed if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have people in her lives such as Raven, or Jasper, or Monty. And in all fairness, she knew his name now at least.

“The piano in my home was removed after your mother was sentenced to death.”

Clearly not the answer he was expecting, Bellamy’s jaw clenched so tightly that Clarke feared he would shatter it with the pressure. Hastily, she continued, hoping to stop him from reacting violently. From what she’d heard in the whispers that floated among the upper class, he’d taken a liking to the more violent aspects of being trained to be part of the royal guard. “It was unfair for me to continue to be able to play when the laws strictly forbid it.”

Bellamy showed no sign of having been calmed, Clarke settled in for a tense, silent ride to the castle. She could see it in the distance, the high walls and impressive turrets visible from every inch of the kingdom. It was huge, but to her, it just felt smaller and smaller every single day.

After a few minutes of silence, Bellamy spoke again. “Nobody cared that my mother played music, or that she composed. Then suddenly there was a law against women being allowed to have musical skill, and my mother was being dragged from our barn with her music flying everywhere.”

Clarke remembered hearing of that day. The entire lower class of Arkadia had watched as Aurora Blake was pulled from her piano and out into the night to a royal guard sentencing her to death for failure to obey the laws of the kingdom. It was also the night that another secret of the Blake family had been discovered, but she didn’t dare mention or even think about that right now.

“I don’t have any control over the laws.” Clarke’s response was mechanical, as if she’d said it a thousand times to others, to herself.

“What piece were you playing?”

The sudden change in conversational topic caught Clarke off guard, and she quickly coughed to hide the strange stammer that fell past her lips as she tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t condemn her. Whispers of the princess breaking laws that the kingdom was expected to adhere to would put her entire family at danger, and considering she barely knew this Bellamy Blake, she could only assume he would plan to tell everyone.

“Just an old tune that reminds me of someone.” It was partly true, so the lie fell past her lips easily, but even in the dark of the night, Clarke could see on Bellamy’s face that he didn’t believe her for a second.

“That’s horse shit, Princess. Clarke. Excuse my language.” He didn’t sound remotely sorry. “I lived with a composer for my entire life.”

Clarke bit at the inside of her cheek as a way to soothe the anxiety she refused to show on her face as she lifted her chin a little higher in defiance. “Very well then. The piece was my own.” She said nothing else, refusing to tell him that she’d written the beautiful, haunting melody in memory of her father, who’d passed away from an illness that swept through Arkadia just two years prior. She herself had escaped the disease unharmed, but somehow she felt like she’d lost everything.

“So, if I’ve followed everything up until now properly, the princess of Arkadia used to write music in her spare time, until a law that came out of seemingly nowhere forbade women from being allowed to practice the art forced her to show up in my barn because she knew there would be a piano there? Oh, and she knew there would be a piano there because everyone knows why my mother was killed?”

Well, when he put it like that…

“Yes, that all sounds right.”

Bellamy fell silent again, though this time he felt decidedly less tense next to her. She hoped the rest of the way to the castle would pass by in silence, but it was long lived.

“My sister and I are barely getting by. The money we had left from my mother’s writing is almost out, and nobody will hire me because of the things that happened to my family.” There was nothing accusatory about his tone this time, only thoughtful. “You are a secret composer bound by the ridiculous laws your mother passes, forced to sneak around in peasant clothes and covered in dirt in order to pursue your art.”

Clarke didn’t dare speak, not sure what point he was trying to make, and afraid to interrupt in case his hostile tone from earlier returned and the tension once again fell between them.

“I think we can help each other out, Princess.”

* * *

 

The idea was falling past his lips before he had time to consider what a terrible idea it was, but his thoughts were too focused on his sister back home, and how all she’d known was secrecy, and now, poverty. She deserved so much more than he was able to give her at this point, and now he saw that an opportunity had fallen straight into his barn.

“You no longer have a composer living with your family, correct? He was dismissed?”

Even in the dark, Bellamy could see the way Clarke’s face hardened, her lips set into a tight line as she nodded. “Sir Finn Collins was asked to leave, yes. My mother has yet to be pleased with any work that has been presented to her.”

“And how did she feel about the works you presented to her?” Bellamy watched for her reaction carefully, half hoping she would figure out what he was trying to say on her own, and half hoping that he would have to explain the whole thing so maybe he would stop himself before the idea was out there.

“Abigail Griffin is far too busy to hear my pieces. Father was the only one who would sit through my impromptu performances each week.”

Bellamy couldn’t continue for a moment, suddenly distracted by being impressed. “You wrote a new piece each week?”

Clarke waved a dismissive hand in the air, the gesture so much like the princess label she kept fighting that he almost laughed. “Composers far better than me could write a piece in a single day. It’s nothing special.”

Bellamy still disagreed but he didn’t press the matter, instead continuing on with his idea. “Princess, I’m going to be completely frank with you. I need a job, and you need a creative outlet.”

He was about to continue, when Clarke suddenly gasped, his suggestion dawning on her before he could completely vocalize it, and he couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face when she began to smile herself. Was it really a terrible idea if both of them loved it? Probably, but he could worry about that later.

“You want to become our composer by taking credit for my work, and in exchange have quarters for yourself and your sister to supplement your salary?”

Bellamy felt unease crawl over him. He’d only meant to ask for a small amount of money in exchange for giving Clarke a creative outlet once more, not a new place to live. He was about to immediately turn down such an idea, repulsed by the idea of living among the upper class who killed his mother, when his thoughts flickered back to Octavia. He thought of how she refused to look at the barn, her faded hair ribbon, her lack of social life.

He might hate it, but perhaps a change of scenery was exactly what his little sister needed.

“How about it, Princess? Oh, I mean, Clarke. You get to compose, my sister gets to live a better life, everyone’s happy.”

He expected a yes or no answer, but Clarke surprised him for what he supposed was probably the tenth time that night.

“And what about you, Bellamy? Are you happy in this arrangement?”

Truthfully, Bellamy didn’t have an answer for her. The thought of leaving his childhood home, as rundown as it was, made his stomach churn with the sensation of loss, the thought of parting with Miller and everyone who had stuck by him despite the scandal surrounding his family making him ache, but every last bit of it paled in comparison to the thought of Octavia having a chance to not just survive, but live.

“If Octavia’s happy, I’m happy.”

* * *

 

A few hours later, Bellamy Blake would find himself kneeling in front of the queen as he thanked her for accepting him for the job as a carriage departed to retrieve his few personal belongings, and his sister.

He shot a glance at the princess, all cleaned up now and dressed in her finest clothes, as she nodded solemnly at him as if they didn’t carry the weight of a secret between them, and he were simply another employee.

Whether or not Bellamy was happy was irrelevant, because at least for right now, Octavia was safe.

And he was one step closer to understanding his mother’s death, to finding out why a law that clearly targeted his mother had fallen into effect just a few days after the last surprise inspection by the royal guard.

Bellamy Blake would be happy when every last person responsible was dead, even if the princess herself ended up on that list.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can probably tell by this chapter, there are a lot of questions that are going to be answered throughout this fic. i like mystery, what can i say? i hope you all enjoyed and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time we finally learned a little more about Octavia's past.

Bellamy sat up with a start as if the morning light that streamed through the curtains--that were probably worth more than his entire house--had reached through the window and slapped him across the face. The soft silk of the sheets that covered his body felt like a slap, so shockingly different from the rough wool of his single blanket on his lumpy bed back home.

It took him a few moments to remember where he was. Oh, right. He lived at the royal palace now. The logistics of how he and the princess—no, Clarke—would actually pull off the façade that he was writing her music were a little fuzzy, but he wasn’t worried about it at the moment. Not when his stomach was so full after an incredibly welcoming dinner the night before, not when he knew Octavia was just a few rooms over wrapped in sheets as luxurious as his own. As wrong as it all felt, he knew this was the best option.

And now, with his close proximity to the royal family and their secrets, as well as the guard that had put his mother’s death into action, perhaps he could find out why his mother was, so far, the only woman to be put to death for her music.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Bellamy sat up, rubbing the rest of sleep from his eyes. “Come in!”

He wasn’t expecting Clarke to come into his room, dressed in a simple, yet expensive, gown, but he was starting to learn already that trying to be prepared for anything the princess did was useless.

“Good morning, Bellamy. I trust you slept well?”

As much as it hurt his pride to admit, the childlike hope in her eyes that he was comfortable here made it impossible for him to lie to her, so he nodded as he swung his legs out of bed. He’d slept in the clothes he came in, and the way her eyes fell upon him told him that she noticed this immediately. “Best I’ve slept since my mother died.”

It was a low blow, but he still felt some satisfaction at the way guilt crossed her face. He could tell by now that the princess herself had nothing to do with the law or how it was enforced, and he also had a strong feeling she resented this fact and wanted to be more involved. But it was easy to look at the princess and see the face of Queen Abigail as she’d stood next to the guards, expression unreadable as his mother was hanged.

Clearing her throat, Clarke stepped all the way into the room and crossed to the wardrobe he’d completely ignored due to the fact that he hadn’t had much clothing to bring at all. “This is full. You don’t have to sleep in the clothes you wear every day.” She opened the doors to show him a wardrobe full of clothes he was sure would’ve cost him more than he could ever dream of making.

“I don’t need you to—“

But whatever it was that Bellamy didn’t need Clarke to do, she never found out because Octavia Blake was bounding into the room, her smile broad, her face clean, and her clothes new. The only thing that helped him realize it was actually his sister and not some strange doppelganger was the faded hair ribbon she still wore, and he felt his heart do an embarrassing little leap.

This was why he was here. For Octavia.

“Bellamy! Would you look at this dress?! It feels like someone’s taken a cloud and turned it into a garment.” Giddily, Octavia spun on the spot, the thick layers of the skirt moving with her. He glanced up at Clarke as if challenging her to look like she found his sister’s excitement silly, but instead she was smiling softly, looking at Octavia with a sort of fondness he’d never seen anyone else use with her. Perhaps because most hadn’t even known she existed until his mother’s death.

“That color is lovely on you, Octavia. I’m so happy to welcome you here, and I truly hope—“

Octavia interrupted once more, suddenly reaching out and pulling the princess into a hug, cutting her welcoming statement short. Bellamy had to choke back a snort of laughter, wondering if the princess would throw a hissy fit at being touched, though he knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that she wouldn’t.

Instead, Clarke returned the hug, melting into it with a smile that screamed happiness, the type of happiness that dared to fight against the sadness that gripped every facet of her daily life. She responded to Octavia’s whispered thank you with an equally soft assurance that the younger Blake didn’t need to worry about it.

Finally, Clarke pulled away from Octavia, turning to Bellamy. “You should get dressed. There’s a lot for you to see today so you can start making yourselves more comfortable.”

Bellamy lifted his eyebrows in obvious surprise, crossing to the wardrobe to attempt to make sense of all the clothing there. Octavia would have to teach him how to navigate having actual options later. “Isn’t there somebody you pay to give the tour?”

Octavia shot him a warning glance, but Clarke didn’t seem bothered, backing slowly toward the door to give him privacy while he changed.

“And miss out on your incredibly pleasant demeanor, Mr. Blake? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

 

Clarke kept the tour of the grounds short, noticing the way Octavia threw nervous glances at the barns used for the horses. The gardens were lovely, and one of her favorite places to spend time when she wasn’t composing, but seeing the girl so uncomfortable made Clarke a little sad. She led the tour inside, happy to see Octavia smiling once more when she caught glimpses of the art on the walls and the overall grandeur of the place.

The ultimate goal was the performance hall, but the tour stopped when Octavia got caught up watching a sword fighting lesson. Part of the reason why the rule against women being allowed to compose had seemed so sudden and out of place was how accepting of women in power Arkadia actually was. There was a faction of the royal guard concerned with matters outside the kingdom as opposed to those within led by a woman named Indra. Octavia was watching her now with obvious fascination.

Bellamy startled Clarke by speaking for the first time since she’d started the tour. “Octavia has always been intrigued by the art of wielding a sword. I’d have gotten her lessons years ago but unfortunately-“

“I was locked up in a barn,” Octavia finished for him smoothly, causing both Bellamy and Clarke to look more than a little stunned. Her older brother had never heard her speak so candidly of the early years of her life, and Clarke had yet to hear anyone address the fact that Octavia had been a secret until Aurora Blake had been killed. “How do you get to learn?”

She was speaking to Clarke now, and the princess answered with a knowing smile. “You can go in now, if you’d like. Just tell Indra I sent you. Oh, but be prepared. She can be a bit… serious.”

“Now hold on, princess, I don’t want my sister-“

“Your sister doesn’t care what her big brother wants and doesn’t want at the moment,” Octavia interrupted again cheerily, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek before dashing off into the room, clearly unfazed by the strange looks the trainees gave her.

Clarke and Bellamy continued down the hall in silence for a few minutes, before the princess spoke up. “You’re protective of her.” It was a simple observation, no hint of judgment for his obvious want to shield Octavia from absolutely everything. She was still so curious about their story, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask, especially since the love between the two siblings was so obvious that she didn’t feel the need to treat the relationship any differently than any other siblings she’d met.

Bellamy didn’t answer for a moment, clearly still anxious about his sister having a sword in his hand without his supervision, but Clarke was grateful that he did in fact speak. “I have a feeling she’d be dead, too, if the guard had found a way to call her existence a crime.”

Clarke stopped so suddenly that Bellamy almost ran straight into her, whirling around so quickly that she seemed to teeter for a second before steadying herself. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that what happened to your family was completely out of my control. Just last night you seemed absolutely thrilled to be coming here, and need I remind you that it was _your_ idea, but now you can’t open your mouth without finding some way to speak to me accusingly, so if you’re going to have this attitude, then we might need to rethink our arrangement.”

Bellamy stared at her for a long moment, the surprise from her sudden outburst lingering on his face for a moment before it settled back into the comfortable indifference she was quickly becoming accustomed to. “Are you finished?”

Scowling, Clarke turned back around and pushed open the door they’d stopped in front of, stepping into the performance hall with Bellamy at her heels.

The hall was spectacular, full of windows to cast natural light during the day, complete with tall ceilings for the acoustics and every instrument imaginable on display. Bellamy let out a low whistle as his pace slowed to take it all in. “Impressive.”

Clarke didn’t pause in her rush to get to the piano, which had been brought back to the hall the moment Bellamy had been hired, anxious to get back to playing. “Yes. Now shut the door.”

Obliging without protest for once, Bellamy pushed the heavy doors shut and locked them, before following Clarke to the piano. The windows were up high which would prevent anyone from being able to see in, and he doubted anyone would question him wanting to keep the doors locked for privacy. In addition to that, there didn’t seem another way in aside from the door they had just come through. Perhaps this plan could actually work.

Clarke interrupted his thoughts when she sat down and immediately began to play the piano, a far nicer one than what he had in his barn. It was as if all the tension eased out of her body, the music born from the way her muscles relaxed and her face fell into a peaceful expression as opposed to her normal composure. It was such a transformation that he didn’t even listen to the music at first.

When he did, however, he had to admit he was impressed. This tune was much lighter than the one she’d been playing when he found her in the barn, an upbeat melody enhanced with rich chords to add a sort of depth that somehow worked with the playful nature. She stopped suddenly, reaching for a stack of parchment on top of the piano, looking around for a quill. He spotted one, along with a small pot of ink on a nearby table and quickly retrieved it for her. “Thank you. This tune popped into my head when I saw your sister’s reaction to her new clothes, and I’ve been absolutely itching to write it down.”

Surprised wouldn’t even begin to explain how he felt at the revelation that the princess was writing a piece of music inspired by his sister, or how she said it so casually as if that weren’t the strangest, most wonderful thing he’d heard in weeks.

“Nobody knows who Octavia’s father is.” Bellamy’s voice was soft, and Clarke immediately stopped writing so as not to miss anything he said. “My mother hid her pregnancy, and then for sixteen years, Octavia’s existence. She lived in our barn, up in the loft, so she would be hidden from the surprise inspections that the guard feels the need to impose on the lower class.”

Surprised, Clarke interrupted briefly. “Surprise inspections? That shouldn’t be happening. Those were put to a stop years ago, it’s palace policy!”

“Well, Princess, not all of your guard is following it. Let me finish, I can’t guarantee I’ll ever want to speak to you about this again.” Properly chastised, Clarke fell silent again, and Bellamy continued. “I don’t even know who her father is, but I’ve always suspected it’s someone on your guard, though I can’t even begin to guess who. The inspections kept growing more and more frequent, until one night they stopped. A month later the law was in place, and then ten days later, my mother was killed. Octavia was found. And my family was shamed, I lost my apprenticeship, and it all seemed so hopeless.”

Clarke wasn’t even sure she was breathing, so stunned by Bellamy’s story, and the fact that he was actually speaking to her about it in the first place, that she was afraid to move a single muscle or risk disturbing the moment.

“Every time I look at you, I see your mother. And the guard. And everyone responsible for my life falling to part, for Octavia being hated simply because she exists. I know it’s not your fault, but it’s a little hard to separate you from the royal family, to remember that you are just a child.”

Clarke stiffened at that, though she didn’t protest immediately. Not after he’d just been so open with her. Finally daring to speak, she turned on the piano bench to face Bellamy. “I appreciate you telling me that. I can’t promise you that your sister is safe from judgment here, but those who matter won’t blame her for being born. That is not a crime.”

She turned around again, about to tell him that she wasn’t a child, but he spoke before she could. “But your music, that’s still a crime.”

The happiness she felt at Bellamy choosing to begin trusting her faded away a little, her quill paused before she could continue writing down what she’d just played.

“Yes, Bellamy. It is. Now be a good partner in crime and stop distracting me.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the kudos and comments on this fic! it inspires me to keep writing, and i truly hope you continue to enjoy the story!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more about Clarke Griffin through the story of Raven Reyes. The author of this fic continues to suck at chapter summaries.

If Clarke had thought that Bellamy sharing a little bit of his story with her would change the way they worked together, then she had never been more wrong. They fought every single day, over trivial things, such as his table manners in front of her mother, or the way she made him copy the work she’d done on the piece about Octavia so far because “my mother recognizes my writing, Bellamy, please stop being so stupid!”

After a week, it was clear he needed a breather. As much as he’d opened up to her, it was obvious that he wasn’t comfortable here yet.

So when he went to meet her in the music hall early one morning, he found her locking the door instead, waving the key in front of his face. “Not today. You should explore, find your way around the grounds. Octavia’s getting settled, so you should, too.”

Bellamy was tempted to slap the key out of her hand, but he resisted, frustrated that he had left his sleeping quarters for no reason. “I could very well just go back to my room, Princess. Unless you plan to order me to _explore_ , as you call it.”

“I would consider it,” Clarke said dryly, which surprised him. She was always careful to avoid any sort of reminder that she was very much above him in this kingdom, as if he could ever forget. “If only to get you to stop sulking about like a troll.”

Bellamy knew her mind was made up, and it wasn’t as if he could actually accomplish any composing on his own. His mother had attempted to teach him piano once, figuring his steady hands would work well with the necessary technique, but after five failed attempts, he’d known he was never destined to play a musical instrument. Anything he composed would likely sound like the farm animals he often heard out in the pastures when he woke up.

“Alright, Clarke.” The moment she realized she’d won, her face lit up, and Bellamy couldn’t bring himself to take it back. She could have her fun. “If I go wandering the grounds today, will you get off my back and go back to being an absolute royal pain in my-“

“Ah, language!” But she was smiling. “I look forward to our next fight.”

Clarke turned to go, and Bellamy watched her for a moment, catching himself wondering what exactly the princess did in her seemingly endless amounts of free time. He was so lost in thought, that he didn’t realize she’d turned around to speak again until she’d caught him staring, and he flushed, quickly looking away.

“Oh, and Bellamy? Go out through the kitchens and go to the shed nearest the west wall. I think you’ll find something you like there.”

He nodded, still not looking at her, and to his relief, when he looked up, she had left.

* * *

 

As much as he wanted to be spiteful and return to his room instead of following her advice, Bellamy found his curiosity winning. He couldn’t imagine what the princess could possibly know about him, but to continue to underestimate her would be foolish. So he followed her instructions, finding himself annoyed by her wealth once more when he stopped in front of what she had called a shed. If this was a shed, he’d happily live in it.

Pushing open the beautifully crafted wooden door, Bellamy stepped inside, his eyes taking a moment to adjust from the blinding sunlight outside to the dimmer lighting that the tall windows allowed into the structure. When they finally adjusted, he had to suppress a gasp.

She’d sent him to the carpenter’s work area. Clearly the princess had done her research.

He stepped further in, not even sure where to begin. He wanted to touch every tool to feel that they were real, he wanted to cross to the stacks upon stacks of wood to identify the types by touch and smell, he wanted to build that rocking chair he’d promised his mother the moment he completed his apprenticeship.

He wanted it all and he didn’t even know where to start.

“Can I help you?” a sharp voice came from behind him, and he turned around, looking guilty. A girl stood before him, eyes narrowed and hair slicked back into a neat updo, the lovely dress she wore dusted with a light layer of sawdust.

“I’m sorry, I’m—well, I just—Clarke said I should-“

The girl lifted a hand to cut him off, her other arm wrapped around a bundle of clearly recently carved chair legs. “Say no more. You must be Bellamy.”

She breezed past him, adding the chair legs to a chest full of them, all of them identical and beautifully crafted. He was more than a little impressed. “Yes, I am. Are you the carpenter?”

The girl gestured down her own body as if to accuse him of stating the obvious. “What gave it away? The sawdust or how polite I am? The name is Raven Reyes. I’m another member of the pack of strays the princess brings onto the grounds.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up. He knew what Clarke had done for them was generous, but he hadn’t imagined this was something she made a habit of, and he wasn’t sure he liked being referred to as a stray either. Though he certainly felt like one here. “She does this often, then? Decides to invite people to live up here in the fantasy land she calls a home?”

Raven had already sat at her workbench, carefully measuring a piece of wood she intended to cut. He didn’t dare approach to look at the sketch in front of her, but it looked like she was working on the seats to go with all those chair legs.

“Something like that.” Lifting her head, Raven pointed sharply at another stack of sketches on a table near him. “Are you going to stare, or are you going to help? You were a carpenter’s apprentice, yes?” Bellamy nodded, hardly able to believe he wasn’t imagining this. “Then get to work.”

Finding himself a little annoyed at being bossed around, he still did as he was told, going and grabbing the sketch that matched hers and the cut of wood she designated before sitting across from her to join her in the work. The tools he’d used were never as nice as these, but they all did the same thing, and he felt an incredible sort of calm overtake him as he got to work.

“Clarke is unlike any princess I’ve ever seen,” Raven said after several long minutes of silence, and Bellamy listened as he worked. “From what I’ve heard, she was very comfortable in her life as the princess up until her father passed from the sickness that ravaged the entire kingdom. After that, she grew up quite a bit, and that was when she started performing these… acts of kindness, I suppose.”

Bellamy looked up, finding that Raven had set her things down and was speaking to him directly now, so he did the same. “Taking people in?”

Raven nodded, obviously unable to just speak without working for too long as she hopped up, and it was then that Bellamy noticed she walked with a limp. “It started with Jasper and Monty. They were discovered by the royal guard with bottles of wine that had been found missing in the palace wine cellar. Clarke claimed she had given them the bottles herself because they were trying to impress their romantic interests. Now the two of them own the most successful vineyard in the kingdom.”

Bellamy recognized those names. One night his mother had walked in the front door with a bottle of their wine, offering no explanation to how she’d been able to afford it, only saying that tonight they would enjoy a meal as it was meant to be enjoyed.

Raven continued, returning to the table with a bottle of the mentioned wine, offering it to him. He declined, and she shrugged as she continued to speak, pouring herself a glass. “Then there was me. I was fleeing from the guard after having slipped onto palace grounds to visit my lover at the time, Sir Finn Collins. In my haste, I fell into the road and my leg was run over by a passing carriage. The guards found me, but so did Clarke.”

The carpenter took a long swig of the wine, and Bellamy was momentarily impressed, before she slammed the bottle back onto the table unceremoniously. “It didn’t take much to figure out that Finn had sent the guards after me because I’d almost caught him with the princess herself. She didn’t even know I existed. But of course she felt guilty, and now here I am. Building chairs for the royal family.”

Bellamy watched her carefully as she went back to the work on the chairs. “Do you resent that?”

Raven looked up in surprise, her eyes narrowing at him once more as they’d done when she’d found him in the shed, and he knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m alive, and I’m incredibly comfortable, and I’ve made a wonderful friend in the princess, regardless of her young age. I don’t resent any of that, Mr. Blake. I’d advise you to take a look at the lot you’ve been handed as well, and understand how fortunate you are.”

A silence fell over them as Raven went back to her work, leaving him alone to his thoughts until she spoke up perhaps a quarter of an hour later.

“Are you going to sit there and look at me as if I’ve got two heads, or are you going to get back to work?”

He did get back to work, but not on the chairs, instead pulling parchment and a quill toward him to start his own sketch. When she saw what he was doing, Raven gave him a knowing sort of smile, which he answered with a scowl. It didn’t mean anything.

He just thought maybe the princess might like to see that he took her advice.

* * *

 

It’d taken a long time to find her, and he suddenly wished he’d spent more time actually exploring the place. He’d somehow managed to run into Octavia twice, though she remained in the same spot, and he knew he’d just been walking in circles.

“Bellamy, you’re absolutely hopeless,” his sister had told him in a fond, exasperated sort of tone. “She likes to read before dinner. Third floor, west wing. Honestly, have you bothered to learn anything about this place? Or her?”

There were few things he hated more than Octavia being right.

But she was right, and so he finally found the princess just where his sister had assured him she would be, tucked away in a corner of the massive library, sitting at a seat by the window to use the rest of the dying light.

“I hate reading by lamp light,” Clarke said when she heard him approach, not bothering to look up from her book. “When the sun sets, it casts the most beautiful light to read by through this window, so I come up here before the servants light the lamps for the night.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure how to respond to that. It wasn’t anything personal, but it felt like something she would tell a friend, and he certainly wouldn’t refer to her as that. Perhaps an acquaintance. An incredibly annoying one who was too damn talented and outspoken for her own good. So he simply nodded, sitting at a chair across from her.

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, though by the way the sun set in the window, he knew it was only perhaps twenty minutes. She was unapologetic in the way she ignored him for the sake of her book, and he didn’t have it in him to interrupt her, especially when he wasn’t sure what to say in the first place.

It was only when the library door opened and a servant entered with a deep bow to light the lamps that Clarke finally shut her book with a sigh, looking at him as if she’d just noticed he was there. “Hello, Bellamy. I trust you found Raven’s workshop to your liking?”

Bellamy nodded. “Clearly you do your research before you, what was it that she said… take in strays?”

Clarke flushed suddenly and brilliantly, though her face remained proud. “She still uses that phrase, then.” She sat up straighter, as if preparing to defend her past actions to him. “If you’ve come to complain to me, I’m honestly tired of hearing it, so you may as well—“

“Relax, Princess.” He cut her off, lifting a hand, though she still seemed annoyed, so he quickly corrected himself. “Clarke. Sorry. I’m not here to complain to you. I’m just curious. Why did you choose me as one of your strays?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it certainly hadn’t been the look of confusion that settled onto her face. “This arrangement was your idea, Bellamy. I simply agreed.”

Bellamy’s jaw tightened, not sure exactly how to interpret that response but finding it a little offensive regardless. “So had I not suggested it, I wouldn’t have been invited to your pack of strays?”

He never thought he’d be sitting across from the princess in the royal library, and he certainly never thought she’d be rolling her eyes at him, but life at the palace continued to surprise him every day.

“Are you ever going to give up this constant need to be annoyed with me no matter what I do? Agreeing with you was not a decision I made lightly, Bellamy. Both of our lives are at risk, and as excited as I was at the idea, it was not without reservations. Seeing you every single day only reminds me that your mother is dead because of mine, and your obvious resentment toward me doesn’t make that particular fact easy to forget.”

Bellamy wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t ever forget, because he never would. The image of his mother standing blindfolded with her hands tied as a firing squad stood before her would be burned in his brain forever. Anticipating his interruption, however, Clarke lifted her hand to stop him. “Had you not suggested it yourself, I could have never assumed you would want to be here. And if you don’t, I wish you would just tell me now before this goes any further.”

Truthfully, as much as he’d learned in the past week, about the princess and life here, he would be willing to pack his bags and return home at a moment’s notice. But he couldn’t do that to Octavia, who had settled in with Indra incredibly quickly, and who was becoming fast friends with the princess herself. The more he continued to antagonize Clarke, the more he put that at risk.

So he simply shook his head.

“I have something for you.”

The look of confidence and determination on Clarke’s face slipped into a look of surprise easily. “You have something for me?”

“Is that not what I said?”

Surprising even himself, Bellamy took her hand, leading her out of the library, determined not to get lost as he gently tugged her through the palace and out onto the grounds to Raven’s workshop. He kept a grip on her hand the whole time, and she didn’t let go.

“I noticed that the stand on your piano was getting kind of worn, and I’m assuming it’s from the piano being moved around a lot so I…” He trailed off as he pushed open the door, glad to see the lamps were lit and Raven was already at dinner as he gestured to the workbench he’d used that day.

Resting on it was a neatly crafted and intricately carved music stand, built to hopefully perfectly fit her piano. He had a knack for estimating measurements, and he’d been staring at her piano stand enough the past week that he could build her a stand in his sleep.

It seemed that, for once, Clarke Griffin was speechless, so he spoke again before she could ruin his moment. “I am going to try harder to accept this place more, Clarke. But you have to understand what being here does to me. I can promise to be more patient with how absolutely irritating you are when you’re writing music, if you can promise to be more patient with me as I try to adjust. Okay?”

Clarke only nodded, and Bellamy suddenly remembered that he was still holding her hand when she gave his a squeeze, and he knew it was meant as a sign of gratitude.

Tomorrow they would be arguing over the proper way to remove the old stand without damaging her piano (“Do you suddenly have years of training that I don’t know about, Princess? Do you know how to use these tools?” “I know how to hit you over the head with them!”) but Bellamy would be thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be impossible to make a home here.

But it was only for Octavia, he told himself. It wasn’t for Clarke.

He wouldn’t allow it to be.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh finally! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. truthfully i was a little sad that it seemed nobody was all that interested in this story, but it looks like a recent influx of activity inspired me and now here i am with the longest chapter yet! i'm going to try and write as much of this over spring break as possible so i can post more frequently, but unfortunately sometimes college gets in the way of fic writing. in the meantime, if you ever have any questions, feel free to stop by my tumblr [octaviabae](http://octaviabae.tumblr.com) and i'll be happy to answer. i hope you enjoyed!


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